


Equal Trade

by ClairVictoria



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Student Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClairVictoria/pseuds/ClairVictoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's car is in the shop, the bus is late, and it's pouring rain. Clarke has an umbrella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Walk it off

It was fucking pouring. Basically the end of the world type torrential downpour; relentless winds sending stinging droplets into any soft, unprotected skin available. And of course, this was the day that Bellamy Blake forgot his damn umbrella.  
Beginning of the week: his shitty car finally bit the dust. He had made due cashing in a few depts his friends owed him for rides, or stealing Octavia’s motorcycle. Today, however, every option had fallen through, save for the bus. To make a shitty situation worse, it was fucking late. Or maybe it was early and he missed it. Or perhaps it just decided to not fucking show up at all. Bellamy was pissed to say the least.  
His patched, threadbare windbreaker was turned up against the gales, and his arms crossed angrily. In his white knuckled fists $1.75 threatened to meld together under the force of his palms. He stood alone under a bent bus stop sign (‘no bench, or cover in this shitty neighbourhood,’ he thought bitterly), the heavy scents of gasoline, rain assaulting the earth, and cigarette smoke stuck to his nostrils, mixing with the biting cold.  
Suddenly, it was all too much and the imposing man made a furious sound of defeat and began rifling through his pockets for his pack of smokes. He came up empty. He had been trying to quit for about two weeks, and to “help him out” his roommate Miller had taken to removing all packs from his pockets, bags, and room.  
“Probably keeping them for himself, the bastard.” He muttered sharply.  
“What?” A rough voice came from his left. He spun around fast enough to pull something in his neck, and a small pink umbrella with rainbow polkadots came into view a few respectful feet from him. Underneath the ridiculous thing was a short (when compared to Bellamy,) blonde girl, desperately trying to keep her grip on several thick textbooks as well as her umbrella. Bellamy felt a flush creep up his face as he realized he had been caught talking to himself, but instead of feeling embarrassed he decided to take it out on this small stranger.  
“What?” He snarled indignantly. From her clothes and expensive books, she looked like she came from money. Probably never worked a day in her life. What did he care what she thought about him. Rich brat. “Nothing.” He finished.  
“Fine.” She shrugged.  
The silence that followed was one that is always born between two strangers doing the same thing. Three options appeared. 1. Make polite chit chat with the girl he just snapped at. 2. Do something annoying until she goes away. 3. Embrace the uncomfortable lull.  
The irked cigarette-less man was just about to accept option three, when she spoke.  
“Would you like to come under my umbrella?” So she was going with option one. Alright, fine.  
“I’m okay.” He muttered just loud enough to be heard over the rain fall. Of course nothing sounded better than being slightly more dry, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he watched her roll her eyes with a practiced ease. She shuffled closer to him and raised her arm significantly to make the cloyingly colourful umbrella cover his head.  
“Don’t be stubborn. You’re drenched.” She muttered, meeting his eye and effectively silencing any protests he was about to make.  
In order for both to keep dry they had to stand closer to each other than any strangers should; he put his hands uncomfortably in his pockets, unsure of what to do next. The combination of her heavy books and the added height necessary to cover them both with the stupidly colourful umbrella was getting difficult to watch. When she had to shift her arm into a better position and poured freezing water down the back of his jacket he came to the rescue.  
“Let me take that.” He said through gritted teeth, reaching for the matching pink handle.  
“I’ve got it, actually.” She returned, stilling her fight with the books and umbrella.  
“Well, apparently you don’t, cause you suck at keeping me dry.” The blush that filled her cheeks brought out the first honest to god smile of the week.  
She handed it off resentfully, pausing just as the trade was about to take place. “How do I know you aren’t going to steal it.” The set of her lips told him she was just as stubborn as him.  
“I could. But, I don’t think I could use it afterwards.”  
“Why? What’s wrong with my umbrella?”  
“I hate to break it to you, but it’s the most ugly thing I’ve seen.” He turned his head slightly and a cocky smile stretched his freckled cheeks.  
“It’s the only thing protecting you from pneumonia, so you better apologize to it.”  
“Never.” Her laugh was infectious, causing a queer tightening in Bellamy’s chest, as she dissolved into giggles and the occasional snort. His own was like thunder: a low, rumbling boom. 

After a moment, she juggled the books to her right arm and reached around the bulk to present her outstretched hand. “I’m Clarke Griffin.”  
He shook her hand awkwardly, a his lips slightly turning up. “Bellamy.”  
“Y’know, Bellamy, you shouldn’t smoke. That shit kills. I should know,” She shifted to reveal the cover of the top book in her arms, “Pre med.”  
“How do y’figure I smoke, Princess?” Her eyebrows raised at the name, but left it be. The banter had distracted him from the longing, but now it was back full throttle.  
She pointed a finger at the pack in his right breast pocket, barely visible. “Doesn’t take a detective.” The unsettleable craving suddenly leaped at the reminder, and his hands shook with the fierce desire. He reached for them and turned them around in his hands, contemplating.  
“If you don’t,” She paused thinking of a reasonable reward for the irritable stranger, “I’ll throw this umbrella away.”  
“I don’t know if it’s worth it…” He tore his eyes from cigs and met hers. “How ‘bout a date this friday?”  
“We’d have to invite my boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re his type.” A rapid fire return. His heart sank.  
“I’m everyone’s type!” faux offence dripped from his words. “Fine fine, so burn the umbrella-”  
“Donate it.’  
“No one wants that thing, I’m basically a charity myself, so I vouch for the charities of the world.” He addressed, shaking off the rejection with ease.  
A low rumbling announced the bus with it’s unmistakable reverberations, Clarke reached into her cardigan pocket to retrieve her faresaver. The bus pulled up to the curb, and Bellamy closed the umbrella while the two stood, shivering in the pouring rain awaiting sanctuary.  
The doors swung open, pushing back the chill of the rain and the gloom. Bellamy made a grand sweeping gesture to usher her on to the bus. The blonde nodded her thanks and stepped into the fluorescent glow of the vehicle, lighting up hers sopping golden hair. 

Bellamy Blake dropped the cigarette and stepped onto the bus.


	2. To The Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took literally two years to update...but here you go.

Clarke woke to another eviction notice stuffed under her door, and three more in her mailbox. A good way to start the day.

She had become adept at living paycheck to paycheck: buying rice and cheap noodles, while shopping at thrift stores when clothes couldn't be mended and were necessary. But the stress of being a full-time med student plus working two jobs made her susceptible to illness. It was a nasty flu that had truly and royally fucked her over. She tried to go to work but after the waitress pukes onto a plate of food it’s hard to find a reason not to send her homesick. Missing those two weeks of work had set her back and she was behind on rent, hence the eviction notices. Apparently, she wasn’t a reliable enough tenant to rent the shit hole apartment that she currently resided in.

With bare cupboards and nothing to eat Clarke left for school. With enough money for a 7/11 cup of coffee and a bus ride, and all her essentials in her backpack.

-

A low shirt and a sad smile bought Clarke enough drinks to get shitfaced after school, at the sticky bar on campus. Two by two people left the bar until the bartender kicked her out at last call. Habitually, her feet carried her to the bus stop she took to the home she no longer lived in.

The streets were dark and almost empty. Heavy, freezing rain made a near opaque wall, through which you could only peer through if you squint. Clarke planted herself on the curb and leaned against the pole of the bus stop. The blonde tilted her head up towards the sky and skewed her eyes shut and fought the tears that threatened.

“The buses stop running after 2 am.” The voice cut through the merciless weather, pounding against her head as though it’s only goal was for her to lose brain cells. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

The booze made her slow to look up but when she did an almost familiar face peered out from a jeep window. Worry seizing up his face.

Warnings of stranger danger rang through her head, sounding annoyingly like her mother. Anger twisted through her gut at the voice.

“Fuck you, mom.” She said embarrassingly loud.

“What?” The driver asked.

“I said, a ride would be great.” Clarke slurred. Half of her brain figuring she could maybe fight her maybe saviour off if he got dangerous. The other half deciding nothing worse could happen in her life.

She made to stand but vertigo swept her up and she quickly landed back in her original spot her sopping head hitting the bus stop pole. Her ringing laugh reverberated through the darkness, he fought a smile as he flicked on his hazard lights and ventured into the numbing cold.

“Up we get.” He murmured, large hands under her arms; an awkward position for anyone. Despite having to only cross a few meters, it was proving difficult as Clarke refused to move her feet and basically went limp. Sighing deeply he scooped her up into his arms and shifted her into the passenger seat of his car. Safe and warm. He made a small prayer that no one was watching this interaction and would think he was kidnapping some poor drunk lady.

When he clambered into his side, Clarke got a good look at him. “Bus stop smoker!” She crowed delightedly.

“Obnoxious umbrella lady.” he returned. “Long time no see.”

After a short pause in which she moved her head as though it were exceptionally heavy to peer out the window, he said a little uncomfortable, “where to?”

“West 48th stree-” she said quickly before stopping herself short. “Um, I’m not actually sure.”

Suddenly the whole story came pouring out of her mouth as quickly as the last nine drinks had gone in. “So I don’t actually have a place... I, um, might be able to” she hiccuped, “stay at a co-workers place, but my phone” hiccup “is dead and my charger is in my closed up place…”

“What type of phone do you have?”

“What? Uh, Samsung I guess.” She shut one eye as though thinking hard about it.

“My roommate has one of those if you want you can charge your phone there, call your friend, and I can drive you to their house?” Another lengthy pause. “I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable, I promise not to do anything or put you in danger or in any situation-”

“It’s not that.” She said sounding almost sober, “I’m trying to figure out why you’d do that for a stranger. What’s your angle?”

“No angle I promise.” He raised his hands innocently, “I’ve just been in a similar situation. And don’t want to leave you to wait for the bus that won't come until someone who had an angle comes along.”

She squinted her eyes at him as though she were Osiris weighing his heart against the feather.

“Alright.” The feather had been heavier. “Thank you.”

Bellamy started the car, which stuttered before revving to life. The radio burst on as though it had been waiting for the moment, cranked up to god knows how loud, screaming some country song. He fought the flush that rose to his cheeks hands flying to the dials to quickly change the station.

Clarke's laugh rose to levels louder than the radio had been. “Hey don’t hide what you like” as her, less skilled hands hit at the radio until he, perturbed, changed it back (albeit quieter).

They drove in relative silence until they reached his apartment building. The rain had let up by the smallest of increments, so she could view the apartment in all its ramshackle beauty.

“Wow, and I thought I lived in a shithole.” She said breaking into a smile turning to him.

“Hey, this shithole is your guardian angel, don’t talk smack.”

“I thought that’s what you were.” Liquor made her flirty, but who cared she’d take happiness where she could find it right now, even if it was just flirting with some guy she didn’t know.

“Nah, I’m just your guide to the salvation.” He mock bowed -as well as one could still buckled in.

He slid out and made to help her as well but found she was on her feet, clinging to the passenger side door to remain that way.

“Do you need help?” He asked as straight-faced as he could.

“I got it, don’t worry. Just lead the way, oh noble guide.” After a few steps it became clear she did not, in fact, "got it", and he threw her arm around his shoulder and took half her weight.

They made it into the cramped elevator, squeezing in with an old man who eyed the two irritatedly but said little. Getting off at the fifth floor, Bellamy led her to a shabby green door and begun fumbling for his keys.

The door creaked open and revealed the cramped apartment. Mismatched furniture on top of fraying rugs and stained hardwood which looked all too tempting to fall into in Clarke’s mind, was nestled in the small living room. A room that looked like it would be the kitchen veered to the right and another corridor showed where the bedrooms might reside. It wasn’t bad. Not great, but probably low rent she figured.

Bellamy sat her on an ugly maroon couch and dashed into the kitchen only to return with a mug of water. The man then tiptoed to the presumed bedroom hallway, another creaking door sounded through the apartment quickly followed by a loud cacophony of curse words and then hushed explanations. He appeared again holding the phone charger, victorious.

He jogged into the room, grin on his lips and a quip on his tongue before his eyes landed on Clarke’s slouched form. He immediately was at her side and watching for her breathing worry balling up his gut as he promptly assumed she was dead. As a little drool came from her open mouth, her chest expanded, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding whooshed from his lungs. At least he didn’t have to explain a corpse to his landlord.

She was still in a sitting position, head slumped back on the headrest in a state that had his own neck aching. Carefully, he moved her sleeping form into a more horizontal arrangement, with her head resting on the comfiest pillow available. Draping a blanket over her he placed the mug closer to her with some painkillers for the morning. He hovered above her unsure if he should move her to his bed to be more comfortable or if that would be weird. Eventually, he retreated before remembering the whole reason for this debacle and pulled her phone in. She could call in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you in another two years.


End file.
